Going it Alone
by Callioscript
Summary: Sometimes being different doesn't feel so special.
1. Chapter 1

**Takes place before the t.v. Series. I do not own or plan to make money off of Glee.**

**Warning: Will include bullying, homophobic slurs, etc. etc.**

**...**

Kurt opened his eyes about five seconds before the first strains of Phantom filtered through his room. His alarm clock was on a cherry oak stand, out of reach from his bed, but that was okay because he usually preferred to lounge in bed, luxuriating in the feel of his soft sheets and letting the music pull him from sleep. Today was different. In fact, he'd had to force himself to sleep the night before. Vogue stressed that a lack of sleep could cause premature wrinkling and, special day or not, there was no way in hell he was heading down THAT road.

Kurt hopped out of bed and rushed into the shower. Thirty minutes later, freshly scrubbed and fully moisturized, he stood in front of his closet, wrapped in a soft white robe. He pulled out his preselected outfit for the day. Slim cut, black trousers, a soft, dove gray shirt and suede, fingerless gloves. On most days the selection would have had him up in the clouds, but today the outfit had one purpose. To complement his newest purchase.

Gently he pulled it from where it hung, near the front of his closet. A midnight black, double breasted, pressed-stud coat with silver military buttons and a hand stitched hemline. It fit his slim form like a glove and best of all it was from Raf Simmon's new fall line. Kurt loved it like it was his own child.

"Perfect." Kurt breathed, admiring himself in the mirror. He patted the coat lovingly, feeling the soft, high quality material under his fingertips. Totally worth all the effort he had gone through to get it. Months of begging, promises to spend all his free time working at the garage, and worst of all a vow made to his father that he wouldn't buy another stitch of clothing until the coat was payed off.

Considering it had a sticker price of nine hundred dollars, that was probably going to take a while.

Kurt gave the coat one last pat, and ran upstairs, eager to show off. He found his father in the kitchen, bent over the coffee pot with a frown on his face.

"Damn machine," Burt Hummel was not a patient man when it came to getting his coffee in the mornings.

"Dad!"Kurt called, grinning with anticipation, "Look Dad, I told you didn't I? It's markedly different from Raf Simmon's usual fall offerings, but so worth the deviation. Isn't it perfect?"

His father stared at him for a moment, seeming perplexed.

"Uh, yeah. You look great kid." he reached forward as if to pat Kurt on the head, but seemed to think better of it, probably remembering the last time he had tried something like that. "Look though. Don't you think that maybe it's a little fancy for school? When I bought it for you I kinda figured it was mostly for special occasions. You know, weddings and the like."

"You're kidding right?" Kurt wrinkled his nose, "Weddings. This? It's probably the most coutoure' item I'll ever own and I'm supposed to not wear it?" He twirled once, ensuring that his father could see the coat from every angle. "Believe me, I'm pretty sure it'd be a crime not to show it off."

"I guess." His father still looked doubtful, but seemed content to let him do as he pleased. "Just be careful with it alright? Don't spill soda on it or whatever."

Kurt stared. "Really Dad? Soda?"

"I guess not." the older Hummel looked sheepish. They both knew Kurt would sooner drink engine fluid.

Kurt grinned, and patted his father on the arm "It's going to be great, you'll see."

The drive to school was uneventful, as usual, though Kurt took extra care to park a little farther from school than he usually did. He was proud of his baby, really he was, but he wasn't an idiot. One look at the gleaming metal and leather seats and the jocks would be all over it.

And not in a good way.

So while he put up with damage to his wardrobe and other personal possessions, there was no way he was going to risk his precious car on the off-chance that the meat heads would be feeling altruistic today. Probably not going to happen. Plus wardrobe damage was a lot easier to hide. It was unlikely that his dad overlook a dented fender or a broken window.

Kurt shrugged out of his beloved coat and slipped it into a garment bag that he had purchased for just such an occasion. It folded neatly in a way that mimicked an oversized carrier bag. And it was waterproof. Kurt pulled a red trench from the trunk of his car and shrugged into it, making sure the front lapels were fastened securely.

A decoy, in case the jocks decided to harass him before school.

He walked the four blocks to school, enjoying the bite of frost in the air. Winter was by far his favorite season. Hats, scarves, gloves. The accessories that came with the cold were so much fun to layer.

Kurt passed a group of giggling cheerios and headed for the school's front door. For a moment, it seemed like luck was on his side and he was going to reach the front steps unmolested, but a masculine voice cut through the air and destroyed any hope of a peaceful morning.

"Hey Fairy."

Kurt tensed at the sound, pale fingers tightening on the leather strap of his garment bag. He turned, unsure who stood behind him because his tormentors seemed to change on a weekly basis. Not a whole lot of people were comfortable with the gay kid. Not in a small backwards town like Lima.

Today it was half the football team.

"Ready for your daily dive, faggot?" Dave Karofsky asked. He was tall, hulking and had a nasty streak a mile long.

Kurt couldn't help flinching at the insult. It didn't seem fair that a single word could pierce so deeply. But it did.

"Let's go fairy boy." Karofsky growled, motioning to two lumbering giants standing behind him. They steered Kurt towards the nearest dumpster, gripped him tightly by the arms and legs and tossed him into the dumpster. Kurt landed hard, grateful that the garbage bags were tightly closed today and, besides a clingy banana peel, he didn't land in anything really questionable.

Kurt waited until the laughing football players' voices faded. He pulled himself out of the dumpster, wincing in discomfort. High school boys weren't really known for being gentle and, combined with his fair skin, he'd probable be quite bruised by second period.

Kurt sat in class fiddling with the sleeve of his coat. It was the third period of the day and he had worn his new coat to all of his morning classes. To be honest, he felt a little bit silly. Not that he'd expected people to fawn over him, but still. He new he looked good and that anyone knowing anything about fashion would kill for a chance to wear the new Raf Simmons coat, but as usual the students at McKinley High had been too deeply involved in their own mediocracy to really notice.

Still. It would be nice to have a friend to confide in. Then maybe someone would notice how much effort he put into looking this good.

"You're late Hudson." Mr. Chaffin taught math and was generally regarded as the grouchiest teacher in the school. He was frowning at Finn Hudson, who stood at the front of the class, looking sheepish.

"Yeah, sorry about that Mr. Chaffin. Coach asked to see me about football." Finn said, shifting from foot to foot, self consciously.

"Not really an excuse in my book. Take a seat."

Finn lumbered down the aisle and headed towards on of the two only empty seats in the room.

And. Oh. God.

Both of those seats happened to be on either side of Kurt.

For once in his life Kurt thanked the close minded homophobic impulses that governed the student body. As usual, no one had wanted to be seen sitting next to the gay kid and now FINN HUDSON was

heading in his direction.

Finn slid into the empty seat, long legs splayed awkwardly. The tall jock shot a casual glance in Kurt's direction.

"Hey." he said.

Kurt nearly chocked on his own tongue, which suddenly felt about three sizes too big.

"Hi" the greeting came out higher than usual and at that moment Kurt hated his high voice.

Finn Hudson.

The most ideal personification of utter perfection and Kurt's longtime crush had really just spoken to him and all Kurt could do was squeak at him?

Holy magic teapot. He had just squeaked at Finn Hudson.

But Finn didn't seem to notice. Instead he slumped down into his his seat. Yawning and listening to the teacher's lecture with a glazed, vacant expression on his face. He seemed completely unaware of Kurt's

sidelong glances and it wasn't until Mr. Chaffin began to pass out this week's quizzes that he seemed to come out of his stupor. Kurt watched Finn rustle through his backpack, a panicked look on his handsome face. When Mr. Chaffin placed the quiz on Finn's desk and the quarterback only stared blankly at it, Kurt finally understood why.

He'd probably forgotten his pencil. Not really a big deal in most classes, but Mr. Chaffin was sort of a hard ass and would no doubt give him hell for that.

Not really stopping to think about the consequences, Kurt let his pencil slip through his fingers. He watched it hit the ground and roll lazily across the floor. It came up short, stopped by a large, scuffed sneaker.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Finn look down, pause a moment, and reach to pick it up. By the time the boy had straightened back up, Kurt was working furiously on his test, another pencil gripped tightly in his hand.

Kurt saw Finn shoot him a curious look, but forced himself not to react. Finn shrugged, turned towards his own paper and began to scribble.

When the bell rang, Kurt scurried out of the classroom, elated and completely horrified at the turn of events. Sure Finn had spoken to him for the first time ever and Kurt had found a way to help the quarter back out, but that didn't really change the fact the Kurt had acted like a complete fool in front of the boy he had secretly idolized for months now.

"Hey! Hummel!"

The voice was deep and masculine and Kurt's first reaction was to speed up. Male voices calling his name in the school hallway were never a good thing.

"Hey wait a sec!"

Kurt glance behind him and to his complete astonishment realized that the voice belonged to Finn Hudson. He stopped, standing frozen in the sea of students, wondering what he could have done in a past life that would prompt kharma into allowing Finn to speak to him twice in one day.

Finn stopped in front of him, a friendly grin on his face. He was a lot taller than Kurt and seemed to tower over him like an awkward giant.

"Hey thanks a lot man." he said.

"Sorry?" Kurt was relieved to hear that his voice managed to sound semi normal.

"You know," Finn prompted, "the pencil? I really appreciate it. I'm pretty sure Mr. Chaffin's out for my blood. I think he hates football players or something."

Kurt smiled hesitantly.

"Anyways." Finn continued, "I really couldn't afford to bomb that quiz and I'm pretty sure I left my pencils at home. I found this website that said you could make your pencil into rubber. Something about wiggling it back and forth. But I think mine are all defective or something because they're all still made out of wood.

Kurt, at a loss for words, only nodded.

"So thanks a lot Hummel." Finn said, "You saved me big time."

"Kurt." Kurt managed to get out.

"Huh?"

"'I'm Kurt." Almost as if in a dream, Kurt held out a hand and almost dissolved on the spot when Finn reached out and shook it. He seemed amused and Kurt just about hated himself at that moment. Who shook hands these days? What was he and eighty year old grandfather?

But Finn didn't seem to mind the formal gesture.

"Nice to meet you." he said and only then seemed to notice Kurt's attire. He looked curious for a moment and Kurt flushed, waiting for the moment Finn would realize just who he was talking to. Instead, Finn grinned and pointed to Kurt's coat. "Cool looking jacket dude. My dad was in the military, you know. Kind of reminds me of his dress uniform. I don't really remember him much, but my mom keeps a trunk of his stuff in our attic. "

Before Kurt could reply, the warning bell sounded and Finns eyes snapped to a nearby clock.

"Say, I've got to get to class, I can't really afford to be late again. " He strolled off down the hallway, seemingly unaware of how the crowds of students parted for him. "See you around." He called back over his shoulder.

Kurt watched him go and it was only when he was completely out of sight that he finally managed to answer.

"Okay. Bye."

...

The rest of the day seemed to fly by. In spite of his monosyllabic responses and general lack of suave in front of the boy he like, Kurt floated through the rest of his classes. Someone had noticed his coat. And not just anyone. No. The-most-popular-boy-in school-quarterback-of-the-foot-ball-team-perfect-hair-handsomest-guy-EVER-Finn-Hudson had noticed his coat.

And he had acknowledged Kurt's existence. And now he knew Kurt's name. And he had shook Kurt's hand.

This must be what straight people felt like.

It was amazing.

Kurt was so elated by the encounter that he failed to pay attention to his surroundings. This was a mistake as the school hallways were filled with predators and the way he stood out from the pack, Kurt might as well have been a fawn moving through a lion's den.

"Hey Fruitcake. How's it going." Karkofky's bulk slammed Kurt into a row of lockers and Kurt gasped at the sheer force of the impact.

Karkofsky's jock friend laughed at the jab, jeering at the look on Kurt's face. Why was it that every time things were looking up for him, they had to barrel in and muck it all up?

"Aw I think you hurt her feelings." one called.

"You gonna cry Hummel?"

"What a fag."

Stupid stupid, infantile idiots. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? They didn't have to like him and Kurt could care less what they said behind his back, but why did they always have to show up and ruin everything. Was he that offensive to them? Was he so disgusting that they had to go so out of their way to make his life miserable?

"Just fuck off."

The jocks stopped laughing at the sound of his voice. In fact he had said the words so loudly that the rest of the hallway seemed to have stopped and turned to listen.

"What did you say, queerboy?" Karkosfky asked incredulously.

"Fuck. Off." At any other moment, Kurt might have turned tail and run for it. The dark look on the jock's face did not bode well for him. But Kurt was so tired of it all that he really didn't stop to consider the consequences. "Just leave me the hell alone! I know this may be too complicated for your miniscule brains to understand, but your pea brain insults are hardly the epitome of intellectual thought. So just FUCK off and leave me alone. Besides, I'm sure there are better things for you to be concerned about, like how Azimio's screwing your girlfriend behind your back. It's pretty common knowledge, but I guess you're too much of an imbecile to work that out on yourself!"

Kurt's voice had carried through the now frozen hallway, but Kurt was too far gone to really care. Ignoring the look of utter astonishment on Karkofsky's face, he shouldered his bag, turned around, and marched into his next class, leaving the jocks behind.

After his last period class, Kurt stopped by his locker to pick up the rest of his books. He checked his hair on the mirror mounted on his locker door and paused to adjust the lapel of his lovely coat.

As unlikely as it may seem, the coat had really brought him good luck. Not only did he look fabulous in it, he'd had a chance to talk to the cutest boy in school and had finally been able to tell off his tormentors.

Really, what more could a guy ask for?

Kurt exited the school and began the walk to his car, humming a cheery tune under his breathe. He was still a block from his Lincoln Navigator when a green Ishuzu Trooper shrieked to a stop a few feet up the road from him. A black Toyota came to a stop behind the first car. Stories of kidnapers and murderers flashing through his mind, Kurt took a tentative step back, but the doors of both cars stayed shut.

Instead, the four windows facing Kurt slid down and he was only able to catch a glimpse of four grinning faces before the first balloon came flying his way.

It fell short, landed on the asphalt a few inches from his feet and exploded, spraying him with it's contents.

The first balloon had missed, but the next one hit Kurt on the shoulder and the one after that exploded against his left temple. The jocks in the car laughed and jeered as Kurt tried to shield his face with his bag.

"How you like that Homo!"

"Fucking queer! Keep your mouth shut next time!"

About twenty balloons later both cars sped away, but not before Kurt caught a glimpse of Karofsky's mocking smile.

And sitting next to him, in the back of the Toyota, was another familiar face.

They left Kurt standing there, thoroughly drenched and trembling on the sidewalk. And it wasn't until he took in a shaky breath that Kurt became aware of the rancid smell. The balloons had not been filled with water. Instead they had been filled with a sour, fetid liquid that left a stench in the air.

With dawning horror, Kurt realized that he had been completely doused in urine. It was in his hair, on his expensive shoes. A bead of it trailed down his left cheek.

Kurt's eyes filled with tears and they fell down his face, mingling with the urine. But he wasn't really crying because of the human waste now coating his hair and clothes.

He was crying because he had recognized a face in one of the cars.

And that face had belonged to Finn Hudson.

...

Kurt managed to get home without staining the inside of his car. He had covered the seat with a tarp from his trunk and had somehow managed to drive home without driving into anything.

His house was dark and silent, seeming mournful and abandoned.

Kurt headed straight for his bathroom, only pausing to grab a black garbage bag from the garage. He stuffed his soiled clothing into the bag and proceeded to try and wash the smell off of himself. He shampooed his hair four times and scrubbed his body twice before he stepped out of the shower.

After patting himself dry, Kurt pulled on soft gray sleep pants and an oversized t-shirt, not really carrying they didn't match. Then Kurt threw the large bag full of clothes into the garbage, making sure he sealed it tight first. It wouldn't be good if his dad found it when he got home from work.

Feeling raw and bruised from the events of the day, Kurt slipped under the covers of his large bed, wondering at how optimistic he had felt just this morning, lying in the same place.

Now he only pulled the covers tight and curled on his side, burying his face into the softness of his pillow. It took a moment for the tears to fall, but once they did, Kurt began to cry in earnest, violent sobs torn from his throat.

How could he have been so stupid?

Of course people hated him. Of course he couldn't expect to get away with mouthing off to the football team in front of half the school. And of course the nicest, handsomest boy in school would never and could never see him as anything but a freak.

Kurt swore to himself that he would never fool himself again. He'd never allow his feelings to override reality. He promised himself this, but deep down he knew that if Finn Hudson ever acknowledged his existence again, Kurt would cling to it with all his strength.

And he hated himself for it.

...

A month later, when Burt Hummel commented on the fact that he hadn't seen Kurt wearing his new coat lately, Kurt only smiled and gave a vague explanation that involved fashion trends and color palettes.

If Burt noticed that his son's smile was somewhat strained, he didn't mention it.

...

"_You and your friends threw pee balloons at me." Kurt Hummel. Pilot. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Takes place before the events of Glee. I may turn this into a series of oneshots. I've decided to go with the original statement made by Kurt in "Ballads" that his mom died when he was 6.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own or plan to make money off of Glee or any of it's characters.**

**I never realized just how amazing it is to receive reviews from people who have read your work. Thank you so much to those of you who left comments! **

**Also, I am on the lookout for a Beta reader. **

**xxx**

Burt Hummel was not a huggy feely type of guy. He didn't go goopy over puppies, didn't find babies all that adorable(actually they were disgusting), and he never **ever** cried at movies.

But ask anybody and they could tell you, without a moment's hesitation, just what could penetrate that shell of manliness that surrounded him like a suit of armor. Actually, it was more of a who. A who that was all wide eyes, a precious pout, and tiny tiny hands wrapped into a bundle that was Kurt Hummel. To anyone else, Burt was a perfect example of a man's man, but when it came to his son, Burt was more than willing to drop anything and do anything to put a brilliant smile on that elfin face. Even if that included less than masculine tea parties or a dress up date that will never ever be mentioned.

So when six year old Kurt came barreling down the hallway screaming at the top of his lungs, Burt put down his copy of _In-Fishing_ and gave his son his undivided attention.

"Daddy!Daddy!" Kurt skidded to a stop, socked feet sliding on the polished wood floor. His little boy scampered onto Burt's lap and presented a bright orange flier. "Look Daddy! My troop's gonna have a sleepover! A real sleepover, just like in the movies! And they're gonna roast marshmallows and sing songs and everything! Can I go Daddy? Please? Please? Please? Can I go?"

Burt looked down at the colorful flier, reading that indeed the Bumblebee Troop had a planned sleepover two weeks from now and if the hopeful, determined look on his son's face was anything to go by, Burt would be sending him off to the sleepover some time in the near future.

"Sure buddy, of course you can go." Burt grinned seeing the look of triumph in Kurt's eyes. His son was something else.

"Yes!" Kurt hopped off of his father's lap and twirled in triumph, "My first sleepover ever! It's gonna be great!" He stopped spinning and looked up at his father, dark lashes fluttering, "And maybe? I need a sleeping bag too?"

Burt laughed, reaching out to ruffle his son's hair.

"Sure kid."

"Alright! And new pajamas! And slippers! And, oh a flashlight! And can my pajamas be pink Daddy?"

"Of course."

They ended up filling the trunk of their car with sleepover essentials. Somehow Burt had been suckered into purchasing a mini tent for his son, who had insisted that a tent at an indoor sleepover was pretty much a necessity.

In spite of the huge bill, Burt was pleased that his son seemed to be enjoying his time with the Bumblebees. Kurt had been hesitant at first, and Burt didn't blame him. Kurt was a special little boy, affectionate and kind, but he struggled at making friends. Hoping to expose his son to other children his age, Burt had enrolled him in the Bumblebee program, which was sort of like boy scouts without so much emphasis on the outdoors stuff.

Thankfully, his son had talked his ear off after the first meeting, talking about art projects and glitter and his new "bestest friend ever", Jordan.

For weeks all Burt would hear was:

"Jordan says that kittens don't open their eyes right away!"

And

"Jordan says that pink is the best color ever!"

But Burt had been pleased that his son seemed to fit in so well with the other troops and that he had found a new little friend. He had actually planned on telling Kurt to invite the other little boy over to a sleepover of their own, but it looked like that would now have to wait until later.

xxx

Kurt was excited. Not just a little excited. Super duper duper duper duper duper duper-and if he could add a million dupers, he would-excited.

When his dad had first mentioned joining the Bumblebees it had definitely not sounded like a fun idea. He'd seen lots of movies where troops did things like went on hikes or dug through dirt and that did **not** sound like fun to Kurt. It sounded messy.

But on his first day there he had made a brand new friend!

Jordan was six years old, just like Kurt was. And she had a mommy, but not a daddy. And her cat had just had kittens. And most importantly, they both thought the color pink was the bestest ever!

Jordan was his best friend, but they didn't always get to do things together and that made Kurt sad. The scout leaders said that this was because Jordan was a girl and Kurt was a boy, but that didn't make sense to Kurt, because they both liked to do the same things so what did it matter?

But the scout leaders didn't listen when Kurt said he didn't want to make model airplanes with the boys and they definitely didn't listen when he insisted that he wanted to be a princess for dress up day. In the end it wasn't too bad though, because he had Jordan and they always got to play together during art time and singing time and game time. And if the adults sometimes gave him funny looks, well that didn't matter so much to Kurt, because he was used to getting funny looks from adults and sometimes other children too.

Now there was a sleepover and he and Jordan had pinkie promised that they would put their sleeping bags right next to each other and maybe hold hands too if the older kids decided to tell scary stories, not because they were scared or anything, but because they were bestest friends ever.

So yes.

Kurt was ultra super duper excited.

Super duper.

xxx

Burt was just finishing rotating the last tire on a 2003 Toyota Corrolla, when the blue minivan pulled up into the shop. It was large and roomy, just the thing any mother would envy, so he wasn't surprised when a brunette woman, with the words "soccer mom" written all over her, exited the car. He **was** surprised, however, when two other women with the same- I'm really involved in my kid's lives- look, also emerged.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hummel?" The first lady said. She held out her hand and then seemed to hesitate, probably noticing the grease stains on his hands, "Ah, I'm Mrs. Johnston. This is Mrs. Walker and Mrs. Abelton." She gestured to the two other ladies standing behind her.

Burt nodded politely, reaching for a tattered rag to wipe excess grease off his hands.

"How can I help you ladies." he said. The name Johnston seemed vaguely familiar to him and he wondered briefly where he had heard it before.

"Well," Mrs. Johnston said, seeming a little self conscious, "We're here to talk about your boy. Kurt Hummel?"

"Kurt?" Burt frowned. As far as he knew, Kurt was safely in school learning his abc's or whatever else they taught them in first grade. "What about him? Is he okay?"

"Oh fine! Fine!" Mrs. Johnston waved off his concern with a manicured hand, "It's. Well, He's in our troop. You know, the Bumblebees. I'm Jordan's mother and the troop leader."

Oh that's right. Burt remembered reading the woman's name off the flier.

"Right." Burt said, "Hey thanks for organizing that thing. Kurt loves it. And he's real good friend with your daughter. I've heard nothing but good things from Kurt's side. He isn't getting into trouble is he?"

"Ah, Well it's not that so much." Mrs. Johnston stuttered, "It's well...the sleepover."

"Yeah, he's real excited about that. Been talking about it for weeks. Say are you three looking for help with the whole thing, because I'd be glad to contribute in any way I can. Not much a garage can offer I think, but maybe I can provide some donuts or something?"

Burt grinned at the them, expecting a smile in return. Instead the three ladies sent each other uncomfortable looks. Immediately, Burt felt the tension in the air.

This was not good.

"Alright, out with it." he said, tone turning frosty. "Just tell me what you came here to say."

The women looked even more ill at ease, but the ring leader, Mrs. Johnson, blurted it out.

"You're son can't come to the sleepover."

Burt was silent.

"He just can't." she continued, "Look it's not our place to get involved in how you raise that boy, but you have to see that he's not the same as others his age. He's_ different. _I don't know. Maybe it's a lack of female attention. I've read that usually this sort of thing stems from mother issues, but either way he can't come to a sleepover with other little boys. It just wouldn't be right. And he certainly can't sleep with the little girls. It's out of the question. And if I were you," she leaned in closer, "I'd see about getting that boy some help or he may turn out...you know..._like that._"

"Get out."

Mrs. Johnston looked shocked. "Excuse me?" she said.

"Get the fuck out of my garage."

The three women looked stunned.

"Look lady, I don't know who in the hell you think you are coming in here and spouting that bullshit, but let me tell you something. My kid is the brightest, most loving, talented and intelligent little boy you're ever gonna have the privilege of meeting. And sure he's different. He's so fucking different it makes him the best and most special kid I know. And if you would just get off your high horse for just a second, you'd realize that he's just a little boy whose excited to go to a sleepover, with his friends. So get out of my garage! If there's people like you running that thing, I don't think he'll be attending any more of your meetings."

Mrs. Johnston's shock morphed into astonished rage. Her face darkened as she and her friends marched back to the car. She slammed the car door, but not before she called out one parting shot.

"You're ruining that boy, Mr. Hummel! He's going to grow up to be nothing but a filthy little fag and you'll have no one to blame but yourself!"

The minivan backed out of the garage and shot down the street, leaving a distinct smell of burnt rubber in the air.

Burt stood there for a moment, trembling with rage. How dare she. How dare that woman, who knew nothing about how amazing his son was, spout such grotesque words? He wanted to hit something. To hit somebody. But a moment later, he just wanted to cry.

Because he had no idea what he was going to tell Kurt.

xxx

After putting it off for a few days, Burt decided that he had better get it over with. While his son was playing tea party in his room, he set up the tent, rolled out two sleeping bags, set a bag of marshmallows near the stove, and popped in Kurt's favorite movie.

When he his son wandered upstairs he found his father sitting in the middle of a dark living room, surrounded by all the "camping" equipment.

"Daddy?" he asked softly, "Why're you sitting in the dark? And why's my tent up?"

Burt looked at Kurt, seeing nothing but his mother's soft eyes, and the childish expression on his face.

"Come're sport." he said, motioning to the spot beside him on the couch. Kurt obeyed, scrambling onto the couch and leaning on his father arm. "You know you're special, right Kurt?" Burt couldn't resist saying. "The most special and greatest kid."

His son just gave him a blank look.

"You're silly Daddy," Kurt said, after a moment, looking at the camping equipment spread out around the room. "Sleepover night's not till Saturday. That's five whole days away. I counted on the Calendar."

"Look sport." Burt said, unsure how he was ever going to get the words out, "I...um...I'm really sorry, kid but the Bumblebee thing isn't really working out."

"Huh?"

Burt saw the hesitant expression on his son's face and just couldn't bring himself to do it. How could he tell this little boy that the night he'd been looking forward and planned for would not be happen? And that while all the other boys and girls were more than welcome, Kurt himself was not. That this probably wouldn't be the last time something like this would happen, that it would probably be like this for the rest of his life? Because the world was full of idiots and bigots and god how could he ever have been anything like those people?

So instead Burt hugged his son tight and said, "Sorry Kurt, there aren't going to be anymore Bumblebees. The troop's not meeting anymore and the sleepover's been canceled. Jordan and her mom had to go out of state for a while, to visit their grandmother. I'm not sure how long they're going to be gone."

Kurt's eyes immediately filled with tears. "But Daddy," he said, voice trembling, "Jordan's my best friend."

"I know kid, I'm sorry."

"She's my bestest friend ever." Kurt said and then dissolved into tears.

So Burt held his son, while Kurt cried, hating that he couldn't protect him from all the hurt in the world, but relieved that at least Kurt didn't know the real truth about why he wouldn't be attending the meetings or seeing his best friend anymore.

Later, when Kurt's sobs had dissolved into sniffles and the tears had dried up, Burt helped his son into his new pink pajamas. They toasted marshmallows on the stove, snuggled into their sleeping bags, and watched Kurt's favorite movie twice.

And if the sleeping bags were a little scratchy and the tent too small to really fit a grown man, well that was okay, because Burt was there for his son and he a swore he always would be.

"_When you're different...when you're special...sometimes you have to get used to being alone." Kurt Hummel, Duets._


End file.
